


Thy Kingdom Come

by ChemCat



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, Religious Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 15:21:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2552354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChemCat/pseuds/ChemCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you need to be plunged into Hell to find God.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thy Kingdom Come

**Author's Note:**

> A story set in the medieval times (13th century).

**Road to Minerve - September A.D. 1213**

 

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, now and forever. Amen.”

 

Somehow I cannot concentrate on those words, on forgiveness. All I’m thinking of is how wrong it feels to say the words. To beg for forgiveness when sin is so sweet. I no longer believe the God will condemn me, only humans will… if they find out my secret. With my sin and downfall I found God again. He gives me the strength to go through my days, through denials. And he rewards me with nights of the sweetest passions.

***

My name is Pierre and I am a novice in a Benedictine order. I’m an old man, if you consider that novices are usually adolescents whose parents had to give them away. I’m thirty years-old, and have no parents. They died five years ago, leaving me behind. I was a single, uneducated, and quite a poor man.

 

Tradition holds that no matter the status, a man should have a wife and children. He should serve God in a way that was devised for him. Why am I different? Why have I never wanted to take a woman into my house? If I didn’t know better, I would fool myself into believing I am some sort of saint who is not interested in earthly pleasures, none of them. Actually, it was the truth up until my path was determined and I started my novitiate, or rather until the Albigensian Crusade and the time when the city of Béziers had fallen. Thousands of Cathars were mutilated and killed by us, who call ourselves God’s servants. No mercy was shown to women or children. I wasn’t present there during the siege but I’ve seen the results. No one was left alive – or so we thought.

 ***

**21 July A.D. 1209**

“My lord, someone’s still alive.”

“Kill them.”

 

I watch as the soldier approaches the bloody heap and slashes it with his sword. Finally, when he’s satisfied with what he’s done, he leaves. Reluctantly, I scoot closer to the pile of torn clothes and flesh. Some primitive part of my nature urges me to see what it looks like - the massacre.

 

“Ohhhh…”

 

I jump up high upon hearing this unexpected moan. With no reservations I start digging amongst dead bodies to find one man still alive. Barely, but alive.

 

I know I should call a soldier to deliver the _coup the grace_ , but I cannot bring myself to do that. There’s still some light left in me, something that wants to believe in goodness and sympathy.I look for one of our fallen knights and take his outer armor. It’s heavy and I’m not used to carrying such things. After dragging the injured man away from other bodies, I put the steel on him.

 

“HELP! Someone! One of our knights is injured! HELP!”

“What is it, Father?”

“Please. One of our soldiers has been wounded. I may be able to save him but I need someone to help me to carry him.”

 

The soldier peers at me with an indescribable look on his face, and then shifts his gaze to the injured man. “He’s not one of ours, Father. A soldier can recognize his companion.”

 

He prepares himself to deliver the final blow.

 

THUNK!

 

“As Lord Arnaud has said, Father, ‘Kill them all; the Lord will recognise His own’.”

 

I fall to my knees. I failed God. I wasn’t able to save even one life. I wasn’t able to protect His creation. Even if God will recognize His own, are we allowed to decide when those poor souls will be judged? My tears fall on the bloody ground, onto my dirty hands. I raise my head in silent prayer, asking Him for forgiveness and mercy for us all. I beg Him to save our souls.

 ***

**A few days later**

“… and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil …” And if we cannot forgive? Then what?

 

“What is wrong, Pierre?” That’s Father Philip, the abbot of the monastery my Master and I are staying.

“Father, if we cannot save lives that were given by God, what good does our existence bring? Are we to watch the earthly struggle without being involved?”

“Pierre, nothing happens without a reason. We all will be judged at the end of times.”

“Yes, but what good is in our existence if we cannot—”

“You aren’t a priest or a monk yet so you may have doubts but think about this: Does the moth ask such questions? Does the cat? They live the lives that were given to them, without regrets. Because there is a purpose and goodness in their existence.”

“How can you know that?”

“Because they were created by God.”

“I don’t understand, Father.”

“Soon you will.”

 

Even if I don’t always agree with his opinions, it calms me to talk to Father Philip.

 

“Tomorrow your Master and you move to Carcassonne, Pierre. Goodnight. May God give you good dreams.”

“Amen.”

 ***

**Carcassonne** **, August 15 th A.D. 1209**

As expected, the siege doesn’t take long. The city surrenders after fourteen days. This time, the inhabitants are left alive, but are forced to walk out of the town naked. I feel pity for them, yet I can do nothing. I pray to our Father to forgive us. I am so close to those people – and I can’t even offer a helping hand. One man looks at me with such a sorrow in his eyes, unshed tears visible in those dark orbs.

 ***

**One month after the battle of Minerve – August A.D. 1210**

“What are you doing? I told you to clean this place, not to make it a mess!”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

 

I watch as Lord de Montfort starts beating a young man. Blood flows freely, staining the freshly wiped floor.

 

“My Lord! Lord Arnaud wishes to see you.”

 

He stops the beating and turns to leave. “Tend to him, monk. Make yourself useful, since you and your Master eat my bread.” He motions to the beaten servant “Now that he’s one of ours, we cannot have him dying on us.”

 

A truly heartless words. I gather the servant into my arms. Blond hairs are bathed in blood. Red liquid pours out from fresh wounds. The stranger is too heavy for me to carry, so I drag him through the corridors, to my own room, where I tend to his wounds.

 

The unconscious man is not young – maybe around thirty. His blond hair and light complexion indicate eastern European origin. What is he doing here? From what Lord de Montfort said, this man had been a Cathar not so long ago. And a free man. Now he’s been converted into a Christian and a slave. Do we have the right to treat humans like that?

 

During the following nights, I sleep on the floor. Finally, two days later the man opens his eyes. They are the deepest midnight-blue I’ve ever seen. Somehow, they don't suit him.

 

“Thank you, Father.”

“You are welcome. I’ll bring you some water and bread. You should stay in bed for another day. You lost much blood.”

“I cannot—”

“Don’t worry, I told Lord de Montfort you are unconscious and cannot perform your duties.”

“Thank you.”

 

I leave the room to bring food and drinks.

 ***

“Father Pierre.”

 

I don’t know why everyone wants to call me “Father” when I’m but a novice. I guess it must be my age, because I cannot find other rationale for this behavior. However, the man who is calling me is not young himself – I would even risk saying he is older. His dark brown hair is loose and in disarray. Narrow, odd eyes hold strange, inner fire. His frame is large, but he is surprisingly agile. Looking at him, I have a trouble uttering a word.

 

“Yes?”

“I am a court physician. Lord de Montfort has asked me to take a look at the unconscious unfortunate.”

“I didn’t know Lord de Montfort cares so much for his servants—”

“Aren’t we all children of God, Father? Shouldn’t a Christian help another Christian?”

“Please, follow me. I’ll show you the way.”

“Thank you, Father. Oh, and forgive me my manners. My name is Jacob Dufour.”

 

I turn to the other man.

 

“Is it your family name?”

“Yes, but my parents died when I was very young. I was taken in by a physician in my town and that allowed me to become a physician as well.”

“In the court, no less.”

 

I lead Jacob Dufour down the corridors and into my room. I’m about to be a monk, so I should live in a cell. Nevertheless, the castle has no cells, only richly furnished chambers. My Master, Father Armand, is not exactly bemoaning this situation.

 

“I have to warn you, Monsieur Dufour, your patient is conscious. Yet, he’s very weak. Could I depend upon you to tell Lord Arnaud his servant is still unconscious?”

“Why would I do that Father?”

“He’s still so weak—”

“Aren’t we all?”

 

The physician enters my rooms and I, once again, head for the kitchen to fetch some food and drink for the patient.

 ***

“Ah, thank you, Father. The doctor says I should be able to work tomorrow. Since I bothered you so much already, would you mind if I stayed here another night?”

“Of course not. Please, do stay.”

 

The man, whose name I don’t even know, falls asleep immediately after eating the bread, cheese, and grapes I have brought. I fall on my knees to pray. The words of Jacob Dufour come back to me: _aren’t we all?_

 

The next few hours pass quickly and unnoticeably as I pray for my soul and salvation. I think I’ve started having a vision of Jesus Christ with odd eyes: one blue and the other one brown. Those eyes were drawing me in, their inner light shining from deep inside of His soul. His presence was so close that I could feel the warmth of His body, His lips upon mine. And then His face started to change into another’s, familiar yet still alien: Jacob Dufour.

 

I snap out of my vision. What was that? I have never experienced anything like it. But what terrifies me the most is the final stage of my vision: Jacob Dufour. I’ve seen the man once and he replaced the Lord in my mind, in my heart. Even if for only the briefest if moments, this is unacceptable. Unforgivable. I stand up; my knees creak in the process. I direct my steps to the church. There I expect to find wisdom, strength, and shelter. God, help me to banish this vision from my memory. Help me forget, and fill me with Your light.

 ***

Upon entering the church I notice Father Armand. He is laying in front of the altar, lost deep in the prayer. Not wanting to interrupt his peace, I sit myself in the far end of the sanctuary and start talking with God. I wake up when the first ray of light begins tickling my nose.

 ***

**A.D. 1211**

 

In 1211, Raymond de Toulouse is excommunicated again. The Crusade against the Cathars continues and so do the massacres. Heretics are converted to Christianity and those who refuse are burned at the stakes. France is like a torch fueled by human flesh. After conquering Lastours, and Montferrand our armies move towards Toulouse. Trails of dead people are left behind as the cities are besieged and taken: no mercy for the heretics. All is done with God’s name on the soldiers’ lips, but no God in their hearts. For the first time, Crusaders run out of supplies, which force us all to abandon our positions during the Toulouse siege. Somewhere around then, I fall ill and have to abandon the front lines. I am sent back to Minerve, where once again I meet Jacob Dufour.

 ***

“Father Pierre. Welcome back, though the circumstances are not the best to be cheering.”

“I’m sorry, Monsieur Dufour, to trouble you.”

“That’s no trouble, beside, I’m the only physician here. The rest of them were sent to help the soldiers. Apparently, I’m not qualified enough to do that. Therefore, I’m left with healing monks.”

 

There is some viciousness in his voice, some venom underlying his already hostile words.

 

“Do you hate me, Monsieur?”

“No, Father. I have no reason to.”

 

Jacob says no more up until he finishes treating me. “Father?”

“Yes, Monsieur?”

“I was serious. I do not hate you. I hate your God.”

 

He leaves me stunned, speechless, and dazed. So sincere, so powerful, so inhuman; how someone can be like that? Like an animal that doesn’t know a Higher Being? Like a child abandoned in darkness, longing for something he never knew.

***

The next day, when I’m still praying, I hear the door to my room being cracked open.

 

“Father Pierre! I’m not sure whether you are aware, but kneeling on the cold floor is not going to help your poor health.”

“I know, Monsieur. However, I figured that since I made my way back here from Toulouse, nothing can—”

“And that’s the attitude that causes most people to die. They should know better. No matter that they asked for help earlier; as soon as they feel stronger—”

“I’m sorry, Monsieur Dufour. You are right of course. Please, forgive me.”

 

I get up and sit on the bed. “I just wanted to talk with the Lord. It helps me to go through it all.”

“You think your sickness is that serious, Father? That you need to talk with your God?”

“No, Monsieur. I was talking in general. I was never a soldier, and in recent months I was walking hand in hand with death.”

“Aren’t priests accustomed to that? You administer the last rites, after all.”

“That is different. So totally different.”

 

I fall silent. There’s nothing I can add, no words that could explain the turmoil my soul is in.

 

“Is it helping?”

“Excuse me, Monsieur?”

“The prayer. Does it help you?”

“Yes.”

“Then pray, Father. But not on the cold floor. I’ll bring you something to kneel on.”

“Thank you, Monsieur.”

“Since you will be spending quite some time here, Father, it would be nicer if you just called me Jacob. It sounds much better than ‘Monsieur’.”

 

A few minutes later, Jacob Dufour enters my room with a towel, and I assume it’s for kneeling on.

 

“Now Father, I think it’s time for your bath. You really need to change those robes for something clean.”

“What?”

“You know, something that has no holes in it.”

“That’s not what I meant, Monsieur.”

“Here we go with ‘Monsieur’ again. As you wish, Father. I insist on you taking a bath, though. Don’t get me wrong, Father, but I do not like it when my patients stink.”

“Excuse me, Monsieur, but how do you suppose I—”

“When was the last time you bathed, Father?”

“Not too long ago.”

“Which was?”

“One month ago, maybe two.”

 

Jacob starts laughing.

 

“How can I do something like that more often? It requires.… I don’t know why I must explain myself, Monsieur.”

“You do not have to, Father. However, bathing helps to prevent diseases.”

“Where did you get _this_ idea from? Everybody knows that—”

“And everybody falls ill.”

“You don’t, Monsieur?”

“I haven’t been ill for several years now. And may I remind you, Father, that I deal with sickness every day?”

“I suppose you attribute this to your … your… bathing?”

“Yes. I _do_ bathe every day, Father.”

“How can your clothes survive such a frequent wetting?”

“I take them off and change them for a clean set.”

 

I make a sign of the cross. This man is insane. He bares himself every day, and touches… This thought brings a blush to my face. Fortunately, Jacob Dufour is standing with his back to me.

 

“Now, Father. Since you are my patient, you _will_ take a bath. This is a physician’s recommendation. While doing this, you may pray or sing psalms – I don’t care. I have prepared bath and fresh clothes. Now, come on.”

 

I follow him, more out of curiosity than anything else. I do _not_ intend to comply with his wishes. When we enter the bathing room, the smell of sage invades my nostrils. Warm and moist air clings to my clothes and dampens them.

 

“I will leave you now, Father. Close the door and take your time. No one is going to come in here. I will be waiting in the adjacent room.”

 

I want to protest but the physician is already gone. Sighing, I close the door. Although I wasn’t going to listen to Jacob’s demand, the smell of sage lures me closer to the tub and I put my hand into the water. Nice. Warm, but not too much. I look around and go to check the door. Forgive me, Father, for giving in to temptation. As instructed, I discard my robes, step into the bathtub, lower myself to sit, and lean my back on the apron. On the table I notice a green cube. Not knowing what it is, I touch it tentatively. It is smooth and slippery and—

 

KNOCK! KNOCK!

 

“Father! I’m sorry I forgot to tell you about the soap. On the table near the tub, you will see a green cube. That is the soap I’m talking about. You should use it to clean yourself. It’s much more effective than water alone.”

 

For a moment I am afraid that he will come in, and it takes me a while to remember that the door is locked. When I’m finally alone, I once again touch the soap. It’s not such a bad idea to use it for bathing: I wouldn’t have to touch my skin. No, it is not a bad idea at all. I relax again and close my eyes for a while. This time however, I have a hard time concentrating on a prayer. I contribute it to the water lapping at my chest and the smell of sage. Angrily, I snap my eyes open and take the soap; it also smells of herbs.

 

Cleaning myself is easy, up to a point. I refuse to touch myself _there_. Or rather, I _refused_ , but when it came down to it.… I don’t know whether it is the heat, smell, or something else, but suddenly my hand is upon my flesh. Suddenly I jerk my palm away; it feels burned. While looking for the towel, I start to pray, hoping that the Lord would forgive me this trespass. I put on the robe and open the door.

 

“Now, Father, you look and smell much better. Off to bed with you.”

 

I can’t look Jacob Dufour in the eye. I follow him silently; and for the rest of my stay in Minerve, I refuse to both bathe and talk to the physician, much to his chagrin. I know I am behaving like a child, but I can’t help myself. I can’t show anyone the path to the light of God if I lost sight of it myself. I have to come to terms with that first.

 ***

Two weeks, later I leave the city to follow Lord de Montfort’s army. I hop to never see Jacob Dufour again. Lord, forgive me this thought.

 ***

The Crusaders continue to conquer the cities and ‘to free’ them from heresy. Amongst slaughter and screams I'm trying to find God again, the God I never doubted, but for a while lost the sight of. Every free moment I have, I spend in a church, kneeling in front of the Lord, talking with Him. And that gives me strength: I can feel His presence once again.

 ***

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, now and forever. Amen.”

 

A young man, just a boy really, interrupts my meditation. By the way he holds himself, I can tell this is an aristocratic child.

 

“Father? Would you listen to my confession?”

“I would like to take away the burden you are carrying, but I’m just a novice. I cannot give you absolution. I’m sorry.”

“Would you listen to my words as a friend then?”

 

It is the first time I see this boy and he calls me a friend. His desperation must be very great.

 

“You don’t want absolution?”

“No. I want someone to listen, someone to give me advice. Someone who knows God.”

“I will listen, then.”

 

He comes closer and sits on the stone floor. His eyes drift to the altar as he starts speaking in a quiet but determined voice.

 

“My name is Pierre, and I’m the only son of Simon de Lastou. Very soon I’m to be married to a woman I do not love. I know the marriage is to strengthen alliances, but isn’t love the most important thing? In Letter to Corinthians, it is said that the love is the greatest emotion. And ‘Song of Songs’ places it above all else. And, Father, I’m in love: the kind of love that wants to protect and shield the other person. But also the kind that is forbidden.”

 

Not even once does my namesake look away from the altar. His voice cracks more and more the longer he speaks. Beginnings of tears shine in his eyes.

 

“Saint Peter Damian condemned such love. The Bible clearly forbids it. The Church hates it. But it’s love. How is it any different from a love towards a … woman?”

 

His words strike me with the force of a hammer. So far, I was awed by his knowledge of the Bible. Not many people – even from aristocracy – know the Holy Book. But now … now the words.…

 

“I love him, Father. Even if I’m to spent eternity in Hell, I cannot disclaim him. I love him and I want him – even if that’s a mortal sin. Do you think less of me, Father?”

 

Finally, his eyes leave the altar and fix on my face. I wish they didn’t. Pierre’s gaze pierces my soul and forces me to hold my breath.

 

“I don’t know, Pierre. I never—”

 

I stop myself before the lie can reach my mouth. I know what he feels.

 

“I’m sorry, Father, to burden you with this. Even if you condemn me now, I want to thank you. Thank you for listening.”

 

He gets up and leaves, and I’m still kneeling on the floor. I want to pray, but as I start to do so, the only words I can remember are these: “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.”*

 

I fall down on my face; hot tears meet the cold stones. I feel like I’m falling into an abyss of darkness, never to see the light again.

 ***

**September A.D. 1213**

King Peter II of Aragon, I of Catalonia, came with his army to help Toulouse, and ever since, the fights have intensified. However, due to God’s will, the king was killed in the sortie and his army dispersed.

 ***

It’s been two years since I last saw Jacob Dufour. Two years since the confession of young Pierre. Two years during which I couldn’t find rest and peace. Duties bring me no distraction and prayers do not soothe my soul. Once again, I find myself on the road to Minerve. There, I’m to take the vows, become a monk – before that however, I want to see him again.

 

“Father Pierre? Are you ill again?” A deep voice greets me as I enter the castle. “I’ve heard you are coming and decided to welcome you. Are you in need of a physician, or other urgent matters have brought you here?”

“Monsieur Dufour, it’s good to see you in good health. I’ve come here to take my vows and become a monk—”

 

Before I can finish the sentence, Dufour hangs his head and smiles bitterly “All is lost then? Dreams die as easily as they are born.” And he walks away, leaving me speechless and rooted to the spot.

 

The day passes slowly - dragging moments and prolonging hours. Evening comes stealthily, bringing down the crimson sun and spreading velvety wings dotted with stars. I find the physician in the gardens, drinking by himself.

 

“Monsieur Dufour, I’m sorry to interrupt your solitude, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what you have said. Why have you abandoned me so abruptly? Have I done or said anything to offend you?”

“No Father, only— I was hanging onto a stupid hope, silly illusion of my own imagination; dream of a reality that would never come true.”

“Are you all right, Monsieur? You talk as in fever.”

“I am feverish, Father. This fever lasts longer than I can remember. This fever, I have no cure for. It’s like a hunger that cannot be satisfied, like a thirst that cannot be quenched. It’s like dying, even though the salvation is within reach. I simply lack the strength to reach that far.”

 

I kneel beside Jacob and take the bottle from his hand.

 

“Father, I do not believe in neither God nor fate. I’m living this life the best I can, and so far I tried not to go against my conscience. Would you forgive me if this one time, I did something my morals are against? Only you have the power to put my mind to rest.”

“I’m not a monk yet. I cannot give you absolution.” I have a sudden flashback of the last time I said those words. Fear and pain seize my heart.

“I do not seek absolution from God. I seek forgiveness from you.”

“That I can do.”

 

His lips taste of wine and his large hands hold me steady for the kiss. I am too stunned to react, to resist. Then he stops and gets up. “I’m sorry Father. Though you’ve said you can … I won’t hold it against you, if you aren’t able to forgive me.”

 

And then he is gone. I sit alone in the garden and look at the stars. Maybe he is right. Maybe God doesn’t exist and the presence I’ve recently felt beside me was only a shadow of warmth of a man I met all those years ago. This whole time, I was a coward, afraid to face my desires and dreams. Seeking refugee in God – I’ve hurt a person. No, not a person: _the_ person. Can my blindness be absolved? Unconsciously, I direct my steps towards physician’s rooms.

 ***

“Father?”

 

I kiss Jacob as if the world was about to end. I’ve never done this before, so it’s awkward, but Dufour doesn’t seem to mind.

 

“More…” I don’t know what I am asking for, but I want everything he can give me.

 

Everything.

 

Jacob’s hands tear at my habit while his lips kiss my neck. Dirty and condemned pleasure takes over me when his naked skin slides on my flesh. Then white pain explodes under my eyelids, as I feel him pushing inside. My blunt fingernails scratch his back and I bite his shoulder to make the pain go away. Nevertheless, I don’t want him to stop. I don’t want to regret anything anymore. Very soon, I can feel him tensing and stilling above me. Spent, he withdraws and kisses my shoulder. Next thing I know is his hand on my flesh, hot and urgent. Several moments later, I feel weightless as I spill my seeds onto his palm.

 

This night I sleep peacefully, wrapped in the warmth that, up until now, was only a dream. Plunged into darkness I found light; amongst the chaos I found order. Seeking God, I found a man. He will give me the strength to go through my days, through denials. And he will reward me with nights of the sweetest passions.

 

THE END

 

*1 Corinthians 13:4-8

 


End file.
